Regret
by cornwallace
Summary: some words are forever unspoken.
1. intro (name redacted)

_  
prologue (name redacted)

* * *

they are awakened by the lukewarm fluid splashing down on the top of their head.  
matting down their fur moreso than it already is - sticky with the stench of stale beer and unbeknownst to them, their own dried and flaking blood.  
the world around them doesn't make sense. aside from maybe the pain. the ringing pain in their head screaming over everything else to be heard, to be focused on.  
their eyesight, a blurred vibration of shadowed colors.  
discolored, the distortions, or do their eyes deceive them...?  
could the figure be... him...?  
light bright and blinding spilling from the peripherals of their warped eyeline to an overwhelming realization and a flood of mixed emotions.  
they try to speak, their words lost to muffled gagging and choking.  
wheezing. difficulty breathing.  
it's too much to process as their minds are stuttering. not working at full capacity. this is mentally established, though they might not have the words for it.  
the ideas and concepts behind this metaphysical manifestation are glowing with symbolism to the creature.  
as arduous as this chapter of existence is, this had to happen. there is a balance of cathartic rage to their suffering, and they can sense it. again they try to speak and they choke on their own words.  
he speaks to them. cold and bitter voice breaking, forcing laughter. taunting.  
the other, quiet. they're barely aware of his presence. almost sulking, feeling ill in the background. only speaking up to play the sycophant. this isn't about the other, though. it's about him and them.  
ragged breaths through the coagulated blood and snot blocking their nasal passages, pushing out a crimson mucous that leaks with viscosity down their tightly muzzled face.  
he asks them if they know why they are here.  
why this is happening to them.  
they know it is futile to speak so they simply nod their head. pain rolling around their skull like water sloshing in a dropped bucket.  
they thought of the words they would say to him if they ever saw them again so many times. the apologies, the explanations. not justifications - no asking forgiveness. just the truth.  
this turn of events has not allowed for that and maybe righteously so. it is not their place to judge the nature of things.  
all they can do is accept.  
their regret isn't something their words can convey, and doesn't even start or stop at their side of things alone.  
though all that rings consistent with their many attempts to construct and reconstruct a potential understanding between them are the simple words "i'm sorry" all they really want is something much more simple, much more attainable.  
for the blood and distortion to leave their eyes so that he may look into his one true time before it's all over.


	2. sweet molly, sweet molly malone

_  
sweet molly, sweet molly malone

* * *

"Turn that shit off and hand me another beer, would ye?" Fox says, casually tossing his empty out the side of the convertible. His left elbow resting confidently on the door as his relaxed hand holds the wheel. "Givin' me a fucking headache."

"What would you rather listen to then, eh?" Falco asks, grabbing a beer behind him from the cooler in the backseat floorboard. He hands it to Fox, while nursing his own.

Fox, irritated, answers for him by turning the radio off entirely. "I said off. Off means off."

"Yeah, whatever," Falco mutters. "Fuckin' jaggoff."

"Watch your beak," Fox scoffs, "or you'll be walking the streets with the harlots and slime."

"Yeah, that'd be so much worse than riding in a car with your crotchety old ass."

"I'm crotchety for a reason. It's the world around me that sucks."

The pull up to a red light and Fox cracks his beer one handed before taking a good long chug. Beer rolling to the back of his mouth as his throat pumps it into his stomach. He empties half the can and lets out a long belch.

"Maybe you wanna slow down in the car, eh?"

"What are you, my fucking mom?"

"You've got those words in the wrong order, cack. I'm fucking your mom. Not your fucking mom. But your mom IS fucking."

"Christ alive, you sack of shit. My mother's dead."

"I guess that's why she doesn't move around a lot. You know what the best part about fucking your mom is? She stays nice and quiet before, during and especially after."

Fox tosses beer on him without looking and takes another sip. Falco is pissed.  
"What the fuck was that for?"

"Runnin' yer beak about things you don't understand, Big Bird."

"Got fuckin' beer on my clothes, man. I smell like fuckin' beer now ya fuckin' jaggoff."

"Yeah, yeah, so does my car. Quit'cher bitchin'."

Falco mutters something indiscernible and Fox, impatient, runs the red light on the empty streets. Finishing and crushing and tossing another can out of the vehicle and onto the ground behind him. Out of life, out of mind.

"Speaking of which," Fox continues, "how'd it go with Katt?"

Falco's attention is turned away from him.  
Locked onto the passing streetlights' reflections ambiguously emanating from the streets post-rain.

Fox gets annoyed. "Hey. Asshole. I'm talking to you."

"Hrm?" Falco snaps out of it.

"Katt. You had a date with Katt. You slap that shit or what?"

"Eh, you know," Falco says, waving him off with his war-crippled wing. "Prude bitches."

"What happened? Did you even try?"

"Hell yeah, I told that bitch to lift up that dress and lemme see that mess. I said the bird would be eating the pussy tonight. Got all uptight on me, threatened to call the cops over unwanted advances. Stupid bullshit."

Fox is ugly laughing. "I dunno about prude, man, you couldn't get laid with your cloaca stuffed full of hundred point credits."

"I get pussy, dude, I just don't waste my time on bullshit is all." Falco means to subtly dig at Fox's obsession with his ex, Krystal.  
Fox is suspicious of this, but it's not explicit.

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Katt's bullshit. She's not worth my time," he replies, casually sipping his beer.

Fox's grip tightens and he builds up resentment. He doesn't say anything.

Before too long the silence is interrupted when Fox pulls over to a parking meter space by an alley. "Hang up a sec, I gotta rock a piss."

"Fox, this isn't exactly the best place to be stopping.."

"What? I thought the degenerate slime around here was better company than crotchety old me, eh? Don't be such a pussy, I'll just be a minute."

Fox gets out of the car and shuts the door around him. He takes the back way around the vehicle before stepping into the shadows of an alleyway, pissing into the corner behind a dumpster and a wall. Among the trickle, he hears a soft humming with some familiarity to it.  
He tries to place it as he relieves himself, not even considering or worried about the fact that he's not alone back here.

The humming turns into soft singing, the sense of deja vu and familiarity getting stronger and growing its tendrils from the back of Fox's mind.

_by the big hill of howth_  
_that's a bit of an oath_  
_that to swear by i'm loth_  
_to the heart of a stone_  
_but be poison my drink_  
_if i sleep, snore or wink_  
_once forgetting to think_  
_of your lying alone_

_och, it's how i'm in love_  
_like a beautiful dove_  
_that sits cooing above_  
_in the boughs of a tree_  
_it's myself i'll soon smother_  
_in something or other_  
_unless i can bother_  
_your heart to love me_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone_

And like, this dreadful sense of realization would befall the sly Fox as the pit of his stomach turns ill, and this song his father sang him as a babe would haunt and freeze him, and by a voice that's familiar still.

_i can see if you smile_  
_though i'm off half a mile_  
_for my eyes all the while_  
_keep along with my head_  
_and my head on i must know_  
_when from molly i go_  
_takes his leave with a bow_  
_and remains in my stead_

_och, it's how i'm in love_  
_like a beautiful dove_  
_that sits cooing above_  
_in the boughs of a tree_  
_it's myself i'll soon smother_  
_in something or other_  
_unless i can bother_  
_your heart to love me_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone_

The memories of his smaller self being held in those strong arms of his father as he smiled and sang. Bringing forth a rather joyous feeling from the tiny Fox as his father sang a rather bitter song of like, romantic spurning.  
And what sort of act was this intrusion of remembrance such like the returning symptoms of a disease to this very moment but a scorning from the universe itself? Dawning unto to him just who was the voice carrying this lovely tune that scraped at the vulpine's soul like tender flesh being dragged along the road. Nerves like bones cracking under the pressure of everything.  
Eyes widened in existential horror that the universe would bring these circumstances upon him.

It was rumored, his father James apparently sang this song during his public execution, trying to like, comfort himself to the thought of his son in his arms as it were.

_like a bird i could sing_  
_in the month of the spring_  
_but it's now no such thing_  
_i'm quite bothered and dead_  
_och i'll roar and i'll groan_  
_my sweet molly malone_  
_'til i'm bone of your bone_  
_and asleep in your bed_

_och, it's how i'm in love_  
_like a beautiful dove_  
_that sits cooing above_  
_in the boughs of a tree_  
_it's myself i'll soon smother_  
_in something or other_  
_unless i can bother_  
_your heart to love me_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone_  
_sweet molly, sweet molly malone.._

And there in the darkness where the singing stopped and the humming did continue. The sound of a zipper and footsteps to follow.  
It is now it is known that something truly terrible is to follow.


	3. events to be lost, memories to be forgot

_  
events to be lost, memories to be forgot

* * *

the echoes of their voices fading into the ether.

"Holy shit, Fox. What did you do..?"

"Shut up and help me," the familiar voice says.

their bottle of whiskey lost to the pavement with the blood from their skull. soaking the brown bag in a mixed pool. the reverb of the crack echoing and shuddering down their spine while they lay there, twitching.  
(fox mccloud..?)  
(there are so many things i have wanted to say to you...)

as all things do with time, this understanding of existence fades away into a lost dream, influenced by the sensations of travel in the back of a trunk.  
and influenced by fantasies of things that would never come and never were.


	4. regret

_  
regret

* * *

Fox races out of the alley, alarming Falco in his dumbed down state.

"What the f-"

Rounding the vehicle, Fox reaches in over the door and pulls the lever to pop the trunk.

"What are you-"

Falco's confused attempts to understand the situation are ignored as Fox digs around in the trunk of the car to leave it open and abandon it with something in hand.  
Something Falco only briefly recognizes as a tire iron before Fox disappears into the shadows. He fumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car and calling out to Fox as his voice echoes into a sickening thud and yelp from the darkness. His heart pounding as he freezes, body tensing up.

He takes a few hesitant steps forward into the shadows as his heart pounds faster and faster as his eyes adjusts to the heaving and panting silhouette of his friend standing over and obscured figure.

"Fox..." he says, cautiously. "Fox, what have you done."

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses without turning around. "Get over here. Help me. Let's make this quick."

* * *

You wouldn't be able to tell, but under Falco's feather's he's turned pale.  
His wings trembling and weak.  
He doesn't even notice the rain starting again until the sound of the convertible top electronically extending itself overhead snaps him out of his daze. Looking over at Fox, he notices another beer in his hand. Falco doesn't have the stomach to keep drinking. He doesn't understand how Fox does.

Fox juggles the can and the wheel in one hand as he snaps the top into place. He glances over at Falco and there's a brief moment of silence before he says anything.

"Get that side, would ya?"

Falco looks up at the ceiling a brief moment before securing his side of the ragtop roof.  
Cutting off the harsh flow of wind as they roll up their windows.

Tension in the silence so thick you could cut it.

"Say something," Fox demands quietly. Not aggressively - but demanding all the same.

"I don't like we did what we've done," Falco says, sounding ill as he feels.

"Yeah, well," Fox sighs, stuffing the can between his legs and rubbing his face. Ears pinned back with stress. "What's done is done. Something we both have to live with."

"What if the cops find us?"

"They won't be looking. Some fucking bum like that? Cops won't be looking for anybody."

"What if we left something behind?"

"What, are you fucking molting now? Don't be such a pussy." No response. Fox sighs. "The only thing we left behind is the dead body and brains of a homeless animal nobody gave a shit about. As long as you keep your fucking mouth shut, we'll be fine."

"I don't feel good about this..."

"Hey. Hey!" Fox keeps bouncing his attention back and forth between him and the road. "I don't have to fucking worry about you blabbing about this, do I?"

Falco shakes his head, weakly. Still trembling. "Confessing to this crime won't make it go away. Won't make me feel any better. I never want to speak or think about this again."

"Good," Fox says, popping his knuckles with the thumb on his right hand. "Good, good."

Falco doesn't say anything. Fox looks back over at him and puts his right hand on his shoulder. Falco looks over to make brief eye contact with him between intervals of checking the road.

"It's gonna be alright, alright? You're gonna be alright," Fox says, massaging his shoulder. "Right, right?"

"Right, right.."


	5. some things you just throw away

_  
some things you just throw away

* * *

it had pained wolf for so long just as he was sure it had pained fox, how his capture had lead to the public execution of james mccloud. and wolf none the wiser, just carrying out orders, promised quarter for his old friend he happened to have to take down just because they were residents of different planets in times of war. he hated to have to do what he did, but he was contended and still he managed to best his counterpart in an act of war. fearful of meeting the same fate, he remained still, following orders. it was james who had prompted him, james who had convinced him to take up mercenary work for corneria and when venom branded him a traitor to his planet and sentenced him to death with an ultimatum, it was only on the grounds of mercy that wolf would bring his friend in a prisoner. (mercy for me and mercy for my friend.) a political prisoner indeed, and one to be made an example of. and part of him died that day, such as his friend and his honor. though, he promised himself when james mccloud's son fox mccloud followed in his father's footsteps, though he would play the part of the adversarial mercenary, he would never best fox nor take him prisoner. he would never hurt the son of the man that got killed because of his actions. and as his world fades away he doesn't get his one wish, his one regret in regards to the son of the better man than he that he got killed - to look into his eyes and have him understand that he is and has always been truly sorry for his actions. and there isn't a moment since it happened, during every single one of their encounters and all the space in between, since after the war when he sought refuge on corneria for some kind of refuge and possible redemption with nothing, or during the alcohol induced episodes of self-destruction and realization that it wasn't possible, that he'd lived as a piece of shit and that he'd die as a piece of shit. and he can hear james as the light bleeds over his vision and sucks him into a dark void, he can hear him singing over fox's echoing screams at him to not die, that can't die yet, that he isn't finished with him yet, he can hear james singing that stupid fucking molly malloy song he always hated as he pictures trees gently swaying above him between the hopeful sky of another life and with a heavy heart he accepts things the way that they are, that his life played out the way he did, and he thinks of the irony of things he left unfinished himself. (neither am i, fox. but that's ok. some things you lose and some things you just throw away.)


End file.
